The Not So Glamorous Lives Of Wrestling Wives
by The Grappler's Lady
Summary: A glimpse into what life is like for the women who love professional wrestlers, as well as their experiences with the darker side of "the business".
1. Prologue

First thing is first. This posting is dedicated to the many women like myself. It takes a strong, hard loving woman, and a rampaging bitch at times, to be the lady love of a superstar.

Next. Big disclaimer here. I own nothing but the heart of my wrestler, and a few of the experiences in this piece of intellectual property.

Before we get started, I'm sure some of you are wondering why this has been posted on a fan FICTION website. It's an easy question, so I'll answer it before it's asked. Reason one, quite simply put, this is where the marks and ring rats hang out. Reason two, because elements of the following tales will be fictionalized to protect the innocent, and sometimes, the guilty.

Moving right along, this work of semi-fiction, a collection of strange, but true tales of the experiences of professional wrestlers, and the women who love them, should stand as a lesson to those who would fancy themselves one of us. To those who dream of the so-called "utopia" known as life with the grappler who has their heart in a submission hold. Trust me, you darling, naïve, and sometimes creepily obsessive ladies, it's not what you think. It's far from easy, it's not daily confessions of "tru luv", and it's certainly not without it's speed bumps. Large, gossip fueled, scantily clad speed bumps.

If you're still with me at this point, and you wish to get a glimpse into the not so glamorous lives of wrestling wives (and girlfriends)? Then, buckle your seatbelts bitches, this is gonna be anything but boring, and definitely not what you expected.


	2. Chapter 1

Alright, so, if you're reading this, that must mean you're either intrigued, curious, or quite possibly seething in anger. Ask me if I care. Really, please do, I'd love the chance to tell you that I couldn't possibly care less about your pathetic little "feelings".

Chapter 1 is going to cover a few of the rules that go along with being the keeper of a wrestler's heart.

**Rule 1: Privacy is precious.**

These are men who live almost every waking moment in the spotlight. Even the most innocent night out with a female co-worker will be put under a microscope and analyzed. If you are lucky enough to become part of the life that doesn't get shown to the public, you learn pretty quickly that those intimate details are not to be shared, unless it is with someone you would trust with your life. A person you could call in the middle of the night, and ask to help you hide a body, without even a shadow of a doubt that they'd keep your secret with the utmost confidence.

It's not that you're not proud of the relationship, at all. It's more that, and trust me on this, the last thing you want is for a bunch of rabid fangirls to find out about you. You have a life, and a normal one. Do you **really** want a bunch of marks and rats showing up at your place of employment or your college campus, hunting you down and ranting at you for taking "their man"? I didn't think so.

And if you're a wife, it's even more important that you keep those details as private as possible. Because then, it's not just your place of employment or your college that you have to worry about, it's your **home**, and if you have children, your family.

Also, just for future reference. **Anyone who brags about dating a superstar is lying. Period.** For the reasons listed above, you just don't do that. Plus, if you have to brag about it? **It's obviously a fabrication.**

**Rule 2: Stories posted on dirt sheets should be taken with a grain of salt.**

Nine times out of ten, the people who run these sites are going on mere speculation at best. If you read a report about your man with one of his co-workers, or a talent signed to a rival company? Odds are, it's wrong. Can you correct it? Well, you could try, but **when in doubt, refer to rule 1**. Your man's privacy, and your own privacy after you become involved with him, are precious, and not to be taken for granted.

**Rule 3: Forums are the enemy.**

If you lurk on gossip forums, you will get hurt. You will question your relationship, even when you have no reason to. I know this from personal experience. Pictures will be posted, things will be speculated upon, and it will strain things between the two of you. If your boyfriend denies the claims, and your heart, head, and most importantly, your gut, don't give you reason to doubt him? You can correctly conclude that the claims are a fabrication.

The best piece of advice I have ever received on this subject came from the ex-girlfriend of my boyfriend's best friend. "Keep your head up, sweetie, they'd do anything to see you fall."

**Rule 4: Independence is not an option.**

**Unless you are married to a superstar, you cannot travel with him. Period.** And before the inevitable happens, meaning someone points out Beth Britt, allow me to point out something. She and Jeff have been together 11 years. After 6 years of sharing a dwelling, you are considered to be a common law wife.

Depending upon which company your honey is under contract with, there will be periods of days, or in some cases, weeks, that you do not see him. Important dates, such as your birthday, holidays, anniversaries, possibly even the births of your children, will be missed. This is their job, this is what they chose to do for a living, and it's something they love almost as much as they love you. **They want to be there as much as you want them to be there**, but a lot of times, it just isn't possible. They make up as best they can for not being able to be around as much as you both would like them to be.

Pitching a fit about him being an absentee boyfriend is only going to make him feel worse and it's going to make him less inclined to want to be there. Understand his position, remember that you have a life of your own, that it is unhealthy to make him the center of your world, and really insensitive and unfair to expect he make you the center of his.

If you are still reading up to this point, I will assume you are genuinely interested. In the following chapters, I am going to cover these subjects: fans, marks, creepily obsessive and screechy fangirls, and the scourge of the wrestling fandom, a disgustingly common piece of filth known as the ring rat.


	3. Chapter 2

**What makes a fan a fan?**

Simple. Fans appreciate all the hard work that our men do in the ring. They go to shows, and they support them whether they're heel or face. They go to signings, and they're respectful, polite people. These are the people that make our men love their jobs so much. They are the reason they do what they do.

**What is a mark?**

A mark is a fan on steroids. 99.9% of the time, they don't get the concept of kayfabe. Don't know what that is? Go look it up on Wikipedia. A mark is the kind of person who obsesses over their superstar of the moment. They go to great lengths to find out information, and they utilize said information.

Marks are the type of people who stalk the homes of their favorite superstar on Google Earth. They find out which hotel the talent is staying in, and track down the room number, and then expect to be welcomed into the room with open arms. A mark will wait two steps outside the bathroom for a superstar to emerge, just to heckle them for an autograph. A mark will interrupt a superstar's meal, phone call, even their date for a photo and an autograph.

**Marks fail to understand that there is such a thing as a personal, private life that is none of their business. **

Recently, my boyfriend, E, his tag team partner, whom I will refer to as K, and K's wife, my best friend, whom I will refer to as N, were in an undisclosed city for a pay per view event weekend. During the weekend in question, N opted to go to only one fan interaction event, and spend the rest of the weekend in the hotel, because N is five months pregnant with she and K's first child.

For the entirety of the time that N was in the room, she was turning away K marks and E marks, along with the most despicable type of "fan" in the business, ring rats. The K marks were mostly unhappy to find out that K is married, and a father to be. E's marks were different. As stated in chapter 1, only wives travel with wrestlers, so I was at home that weekend, but since N and I are best friends, I spent my free time talking to her over IM.

E marks were not aware of "thee girlfriend". E marks were not happy with just knowing that E had a girlfriend. No, they wanted information. Now, I have no problem with them knowing a little bit of info, such as what state I'm from, how old I am, and whether or not I'm a Diva or Knockout, and whether or not I know certain superstars who make my state famous. But when it gets to "what part of the state is she from?", "what's her name?", and "what does she do for a living?", that's where I draw the line.

E was not amused when he was ambushed during some downtime. E was highly ticked off when said marks started interrogating him about his personal life. E was livid when one had the nerve to shout at him "we have the right to know!"

**No. You don't have the right to know.**

Their personal life? It's none of your business. Tracking down their hotel room, showing up, and expecting to be welcomed with open arms? That's creepy, and they hate it. It makes them uncomfortable.

It's rude to interrupt someone's meal. How would you feel if someone did that to you, even once, let alone every time you tried to put a bite of food in your mouth? It's really rude to wait outside the bathroom for someone to come out, just so you can ambush them for an autograph.

And it's very disrespectful to insult someone's pregnant wife, and tell her that her husband isn't the type to settle down. That he isn't ready for a child. Or that their wedding was obviously a shotgun deal.

Also, to the fan who got dragged back to the room on the second to last night of the pay per view event weekend? You don't know me. You have no right to call me names in front of my best friend, just because I happen to be dating the guy you like. You have no right to judge me because I have a "normal" life. And I happen to think it's hilarious that E caught you saying what you said, and made you repeat it, then proceeded to tell you off in front of everyone in the hallway.

**Real fans don't act like this. Real fans have respect for their favorite superstars, and their personal, private lives.**

To the only two fans who actually showed up at the room? We thank you for your respect and kindness.

Chapter 3 will cover what N and I like to refer to as "The Night Of A Thousand Rats", as well as what exactly makes a ring rat, well, a ring rat.


	4. Chapter 3

**What is a ring rat?**

A ring rat is the lowest, most vile form of human being associated with what we know as "the business". Regrettably, they are classified as a type of "fan", but not one that the talent, or their wives and girlfriends for that matter, have any respect for.

**Rats have no respect for the sanctity of marriage. They do not care if you are pregnant, and in fact, this makes them even more persistent. Rats give no fuck if you are in a relationship. They care not about who they hurt as long as they get their trophy fuck.**

Before the inevitable happens, yes, I'm well aware that some guys don't say no. And for anyone who says "well, the guys could say no", you have no idea what you're talking about.

**Yes, other sports have rats. But they're nothing like ring rats. Ring rats do not take no for an answer. "No" to them means "try again next PPV weekend" or even "try again next taping". You can tell them "no" a million times, and they will still come back again.**

Let me take you back to the weekend from last chapter.

Between dealing with nosy, rabid, creepily obsessive marks all weekend, N had to suffer through what we refer to as The Night Of A Thousand Rats. I'm only going to cover the worst of the worst, because if I talked about them all I could fill up an entire fic.

The first set I'm going to discuss with you were a trio of scantily clad, pin thin, bleached blonde and overly spray tanned "beauties" who had the nerve to call through the door.

"Tell K and E their regulars are here."

Neither K nor E are the type of guy who go for the typical Playboy bunny standard of so-called beauty. They do not go for tiny waists, fake boobs, and blonde hair, and they wouldn't be caught dead with women who were dressed as slutty as these three.

"I'm sorry", N called back to them, "I'm **Mrs**. K, I'm five months pregnant, and—"

Before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted.

"Why do you think we're here?"

"Listen, you two cent tramps, I know for a fact you're not their regulars, and I can assure you, you will not be getting what you came here for tonight. Get lost, before I call security."

I mentioned earlier that rats are persistent vermin. They actually had the nerve to inform N that they weren't leaving until K and E returned from their fan event. They scattered however, as soon as she picked up the phone to follow through with her threat.

The next ones two show up were flipping a coin when N answered the door. When asked why they were doing said action, they replied with the following:

"We wanted to see who'd get to use the room first."

"I am K's wife. See my rings? Also, see my belly? This is our son. As for E, he has a girlfriend, one he is very devoted to. I suggest you leave."

Both of them left, in tears. As heartless as this might sound, N and I both had a good laugh at their expense. Quick note here. If you are stupid enough to show up at the hotel room of a talent, expecting to get laid, and find their wife instead? We reserve the right to laugh loudly at you while you walk away, your hopes and dreams crushed, and tears rolling down your pathetic face.

N chased off a set of strippers, who had actually brought a pole with them to set up for a show, before we dealt with the worst set of all.

Three whores, much like the first set in appearance. They were not amused to find a woman answering the door.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. K. And this is little K."

"We're here to help the boys celebrate."

"I'm afraid there will be no celebrating tonight, except between K and myself. E's putting off his celebration until he visits his girlfriend."

"You're welcome to watch!"

"They're not interested."

"Why don't we let them decide that?"

"…Lemme tell you something, honey, the only hands, mouth, or vagina that K wants on his cock are mine. Get lost."

"You're not his type, you're too fat."

"One, you don't know his type. Two, I'm pregnant, I'm supposed to be big."

"We're not leaving until **they** tell us to."

Fortunately for N, she wasn't alone this time. The boys, completely exhausted and ready for some down time, had just arrived.

When the rats left, they were leaving not because they were told to, but because K had demanded that E pass him the duct tape. He made it perfectly clear that he was going to duct tape them to the wall and allow them to watch while he "celebrated" with N. As they were running away, K called after them.

"Where are you going? I thought you **wanted** to be here!"

If you are stupid enough to show up at the hotel room, looking to get laid, you deserve whatever is said to you by the irritated superstar you have disturbed. We, the girlfriends and wives whose relationships and marriages you would break up, reserve the right to laugh loudly at your humiliation.

Remember this if you are tempted to pull a stunt like this.


End file.
